Garbology

gahr-BOL-uh-jee | noun

1: the study of the material discarded by a society to learn what it reveals about social or cultural patterns

It had started as curiosity, really. Sirius Black had despised the man. Passionately. It seemed that a dislike of Severus Snape was nearly universal. Why? Over the course of her observation, the only persons who had seemed to speak kindly to him were Minerva and Poppy. She, of course, did her best to keep away in order to retain the integrity of her study. Some days that goal was impossible, butting heads as they did at staff meetings. Why he felt it was any business in the slightest how she taught her students was beyond her. So she favored a lighter hand? It wasn't as though she coddled them. She simply had no desire to draw all the shades of her defense classroom and play a slideshow of gruesome images depicting werewolves and their victims. Cough, cough. He always rolled his eyes when she brought that up.

Over the years since the end of the war, she had been gathering bits and pieces of knowledge about him. She'd never intentionally researched the man, but she'd observed enough to pick up little facts. He was softer now with the first-years than she remembered him being with them. They, of course, were not aware of this and thought he was the absolute worst. He still didn't eat much at mealtimes, but he always ate more than average when a pot roast was on. He loved chocolate – particularly Devil's food cake – savoring every bite and picking up every crumb with his fork when it was done. In the library, he favored a cushy armchair in the far eastern corner, hidden behind several walls of shelves. When he sat in it, his book tended to rest in his left hand, his right turning the pages before returning to his knee. She had once come upon him so absorbed in a muggle horror novel that he had had no idea she was there perusing the shelf beside him. She'd taken note of the title and author and smiled to herself. Of course Severus would be a fan of the king. Who wasn't?
It was several years now since she had come to teach at the castle. What had once started as curiosity had gradually faded into something else. She actively cared for the man, if from afar. She had bribed the house elves to add pot roast onto the menu weekly. She asked them to provide a chocolate dessert of some kind every night – which they were only too happy to do. They had no desire for the hats or scarves that she had once tried to give them, but she had expanded her repertoire over the years and brought them small, crocheted animals from time to time. They oohed and ahhed over the critters and lined them along the shelves in the kitchens. She ensured that the small shelf in the staff lounge was well-stocked with his preferred reading.

She was engaged in just that one evening when she was interrupted. She was trying out a new author today, testing the waters there. She had quite enjoyed his writing style, but she was curious if Severus would also.

"Professor Granger," he drawled from the doorway. "Am I to presume that it is you who has been stocking such… horrifying works on our shelves lately?"

She blushed and turned, book in hand. "Indeed. I rather enjoy them myself and I wanted to share with those whom I presume also enjoy the genre." She raised an eyebrow at him.

A small smile quirked one corner of his mouth. "I do. I do not, however, believe that those such as Filius or Pomona enjoy finding titles such as 'Puppeteer of the Dead' on their staff room shelf."

Hermione brightened. "It was a good one, wasn't it?"

He snorted in response. "It was. My point, Professor, is that perhaps you should skip the middle man and present them directly to me, rather than subjecting the rest of the staff to them."

Her brows rose in surprise. "Alright then." She stretched her arm forward, presenting him with the book that she held. "I've just finished this one. I enjoyed it for the most part. I'd like to know what you think of it."

He moved further into the room to take the book from her hand, his fingers brushing hers just slightly as he did so. She fought to suppress the shivers that threatened to run through her at the sensation. She watched as he flipped the book over and read the blurb. After finishing, he nodded once and turned around with it, swiftly leaving the room.

He'd had the thing less than forty-eight hours when he marched into her office and flung it down on her desk. "Utter shite," he announced with a sneer.

She laughed, surprised to see him. "I see that you were also unhappy with the forced romance."

"It's a book about people running for their lives. Why does it need to have a romance? She's the only female character, for god's sake. Does she have to have a love interest? Is that a requirement? And I found the thread about the native ghosts saving the day a bit far-fetched, even for what was happening there."

Hermione shrugged. "Give the people what they want, I suppose. You and I are in the minority, I think." She wrinkled her nose at him. "Romance in a horror novel. Despicable. I see it didn't deter you from finishing the book, though."

He growled wordlessly and stormed out of her office.

She decided to try something different next. She knocked politely on his office door – a far cry from his marching – and dropped the book onto his desk. He eyed the cover with trepidation. 'The Cobra Event' stared up at him.

"It's one of my favorites," she informed him. "It isn't a horror, but it's a medical thriller."

He raised one brow at her. "A medical thriller? How exactly is medicine thrilling?"

She rolled her eyes. "Just read the book. I think you'll like it."

He did. When he returned it to her office, there was a new gleam in his eye. "Does this author have more?"

She nodded eagerly and beckoned for him to follow her into her sitting room. "They aren't all thrillers," she said, pointing out the section of her bookshelf dedicated just to him. "They're mostly non-fiction but they read like a novel."

"May I?" he asked, reaching toward the shelf.

She nodded again and he plucked one down. "You can take them all with you if you'd like. Just as long as I get them back. Sorry, but you'll have to buy your own copies when you fall in love with them," she told him with a smirk.

He'd left with the stack.

"Is this all true?" he demanded a week later, sitting beside her on the couch before staff meeting. He pushed the stack of books into her lap.

She nodded intently. "Terrifying, isn't it? Sometimes the truth is the scariest thing of all."

He said nothing, but there was a small frown on his lips throughout the meeting. They fell into a pattern over the next few months. He devoured her books and then came back for more. Thankfully, she was enough of a bookworm that he had not even come close yet to putting a dent in her supply.

"I need something new," he declared without preamble, dropping himself into the chair across from her desk.

"Where's my book?" she asked. He didn't seem to have it on his person. She wouldn't give him a new one if she didn't get the old one back.

"I haven't finished it yet." He paused. "I… wasn't speaking of a book."

"Er… What do you need then?" They'd never really discussed much besides their mutual taste in books.

"The students are leaving next week." She nodded. She loved teaching, but Merlin, was it nice to have a few solid weeks of peace and quiet. "I wanted to ask…" He stopped and looked down at his shoes. His adam's apple bobbed with a heavy swallow and he looked back up, his dark eyes boring into her. "Would you like to have dinner with me after they leave? I'll cook."

For a moment, she was too startled to say anything. Was he asking her for a date? "Are you asking me for a date?"

A bit of color came into his cheeks. She didn't think she'd ever seen him blush before. "Yes." The man looked like he was ready to spring to his feet and bolt any moment.

She smiled. "Yes, of course. Just let me know what day works for you."

He looked surprised. "Friday?"

"I'll be there."

He seemed to be avoiding her leading up to their date. He dropped in once on the Tuesday before to drop off her book and inform her that dinner would be at seven. He accepted her new recommendation with a nod of thanks.

Hermione brushed at the summer dress she'd donned for dinner, straightening it as she stood outside the door to his rooms. Steeling her nerves, she knocked. She heard his voice inviting her in, and she pushed open the door. The smell of cooking meat greeted her first. Her mouth started to water immediately. She followed her nose into the kitchen, looking around as she went. She'd never been in his rooms before. They were surprisingly light, considering that they were in the dungeons.

"It smells wonderful," she said in greeting.

He turned off the stove burner. "I hope you like porkchops."

She smiled and nodded. He served her meat onto a plate and handed it to her, gesturing to the beans and vegetables on the stove. She scooped what she wanted and moved to the table. His nerves were almost palpable, and she wondered when he had last done this. He offered her wine, which she accepted with thanks. The first bite was divine.

"You are an excellent cook," she informed him.

"Thank you." He took a sip of his wine. "I did much of the cooking growing up."

"I see." They fell into an awkward silence, the only sound that of silverware scraping against their plates. What kind of conversation was one supposed to have on a first date with a man who had taught you when you were a teen? "So, what did you think of the book?"

He made a face at his plate. "It was an interesting enough concept. Entirely implausible, though. Every ecosystem needs various niches in order to survive. It is impossible that every single living thing would be transformed into a carnivorous, killer being. It would be unsustainable."

"And again with the romance," Hermione agreed. "Come on, folks, you've known each other a day and a half. She isn't your soulmate. I was glad that she got eaten."

Severus chuckled. "As was I."

The conversation lagged off and on throughout the evening in spurts accented by the awkward silences. They ended the night at his front door. She finished off her glass of wine and handed it over to him. He leaned over to set it beside his own empty glass on the side table beside the couch.

"I'd like to do this again," he admitted. "I know it's been a bit awkward."

She smiled at him. "I would like that. I think it just takes practice."

He moved closer to her, reaching a hand for her waist. She wondered if he was doing what she thought he was doing. His other hand went to her cheek. He was definitely doing what she thought he was doing. Her heart rate picked up. He was leaning in now. Her eyes closed as his lips made contact with hers. It was a short kiss, but she enjoyed the feel of his warm lips on her own. She found herself wanting to do it again, to explore the feeling. Yes, they'd definitely have to do this again.

A/N: 'Puppeteer of the Dead' is a real book by the author Troy McCombs. I finished it last week. Pretty good. 'The Cobra Event' is a real book by Richard Preston, and it really is one of my all-time favorites. I highly recommend it.